Finding Shalom

One of my best friends died just before midnight last night. It was not a tragic accident, or a sudden illness; he was one month shy of his ninety-ninth birthday. His name was Byron Bristol.

Mr. Byron is not one of those men whom the world will remember. His passing will not be plastered across USA Today, and his name will not scroll across the screen on a news ticker. He outlived most of his family and many of his friends. But he was a man who took adventure in his stride, who trusted the Lord with a faith rarely seen, who founded an amazing Christian fellowship, who was a source of wisdom and encouragement; he was a man who made mistakes but also and made memories and made friends that lasted a lifetime. He was my close friend for about four years.

A young Byron Bristol--going on
his first date with the woman
who would be his soul-mate
for 72 years

He lived in the same small town that I call home, as a member of a Christian community that he and his wife founded on what they thought were God's orders back in 1985. My grandparents lived there too, running the bed and breakfast which is the hub of that community. Mr. Byron and his wife, Esther, lived alone in a little house which always sat on the outskirts of my mind. I saw them at church, I saw them around my grandparents' house during my whole childhood, but they were never a part of my life until my dad made an out-of-the-blue suggestion that I interview Mr. B about his long and interesting history. I love to write, so the idea of writing his biography was attractive, and to be honest I felt a little guilty for ignoring the old couple for so many years. So I took my little fifteen year old self over to the Bristol's house with my notepad, pencil, and video recorder, ready to hear stories from a man who was born in the days of jailed suffragettes, horses and buggies, iceboxes, dirty factories, no interstates, and Ford Model Ts, when television was a thing in the far future. 

A rather bad photo scanned from a local newspaper
which featured Mr. Byron's story of how
an American company designed and
built the Japanese Zero fighter plane. Read it here.

We soon got beyond simple questions and answers. I wanted to delve into his history, his life, his feelings and reactions and motivations. I learned about his family, his friends, his work, his hobbies, his dreams. I heard hilarious stories, heartbreaking stories, stories that inspired me and made me ask more and more questions. We went through his slide collection and saw pristine photographs in brilliant colors--decades frozen in time and space projected on a white screen. I created a Heritage Makers book for the Bristols (you can see a preview of it here), a short biography of their lives up to that point, filled with tales and photos and quotes and miracles. It was an honor to write it, but I wasn't going to stop there. I continued to interview him for a "bigger" book that was to come some time in the future; I really just wanted to sit and talk with him for an hour each week.

Byron and his bride on one of their international trips.

After the love of his life died on June 1, 2009, Mr. Byron began readying himself for death. His goal had been to help Esther until the very end, and that had been accomplished. But God had more in store for His servant. These past three years have been a growing time for Mr. B, a time to learn contentment and the power of prayer and forgiveness. So many elderly people get set in their ways at this time of life; they grow sedentary and listless. Mr. Byron longed to be as active as ever, despite his walker, and his mind was always actively planning, coordinating, creating--he remained an artist. He was still growing in Christ on the day of his death; he still had goals he wanted to accomplish.

Mr. Byron sculpted and cast this little chipmunk
statue decades ago, then gave it to me as a present.

I saw him on his last day on this earth, and I thank God that I didn't put off that visit until it was too late. Just the week before we had had one of our well-loved talks, and except for a few lapses in memory and mental mix-ups he was very sharp. Our conversation was spurred by cards from the Un-Game, and it brought us laughter and soul-baring conversation. We talked about the first scripture that came to his mind, "Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness" (Psalm 48:1); it was a verse that spoke to him of the greatness of our God and how worthy He is of our praise and admiration.

Then a few days ago Mr. Byron took a sudden turn for the worst. His dedicated caretakers, my amazing grandparents, had to help him perform the most basic tasks, and he showed all the signs of death's approach. But at age ninety-eight, after so many scares and close calls, we half-suspected that he'd just bounce back like he had every time before.

He was more unresponsive than I'd ever seen him, and it was strange to see him lying in bed when he only ever sat in his easy chair, but he knew me and said my name with a smile. I brought him a vase full of daffodil blossoms, fresh from the wet spring sunshine outside his dark room. I held his hand, told him I couldn't stay long, mentioned that there were a few stories I would ask him more about on my next visit. Then I did what I hardly ever do, gave him a long hug and prayed (very loud so that he could hear me), prayed for peace and grace to envelop him on every side, and God's presence to be with him always. Then I just sat there holding his hand, trying not to cry. He reached up and touched my face, looking at me with eyes that loved so undeserving. I told him I had to go, he said, "Where?" and I explained that I had "stuff" to do. He was almost asleep and couldn't say much. After a garbled sentence that was something like "The first planting needs to be checked," I smiled and said my good-byes. 

Mr. Byron liked to say "shalom", the Hebrew word meaning peace, as a farewell. I rarely--if ever--said that to him. But this time I said it, "Shalom." He looked up and said, "Shalom," and I said it again, "Shalom." Those were the last words we exchanged. 

He died after a day filled with friends, family, hymns, prayers, and loving care. He wanted to be with the Lord so badly for so long, and finally his petitions were answered. He has found true shalom.

                                                                                                                            שָׁלוֹם,      

Captain John Smith

Captain John Smith is my new favorite European colonizer! Call this a geeky-homeschool-girl moment, but I am fascinated with this guy.

I've learned that he is much, much more than a 2D Disney cartoon character, or just another evil English explorer out to exploit Native Americans. He was a brilliant, adventurous, out-of-the-box kind of guy I would love to have known. He was also extremely pompous, and self-absorbed. In fact, he’d probably be thrilled with his current pop-culture status. 

To be honest, he had something to be proud of. This guy started as the son of an English farmer, who was apprenticed to a shopkeeper at age 15. He wanted none of it, and may have tried to join an expedition with Sir Francis Drake, but John’s father did not approve. Mr. Smith died soon after, however, and his 16-year-old son was away as quickly as possible. He had his indenture canceled (I really wonder how he managed that), and set off to the Netherlands to fight for the Dutch. From here his list of accomplishments grows: winning prize money as a privateer in the Mediterranean, fighting with the Austrians against the Turks and becoming a captain, beheading three Turkish offers in single combat in Rumania, enduring captivity and slavery, escaping slavery by murdering his Turkish master. He was the ripe old age of 24 when he returned to England after all of these adventures. And he was just getting warmed up! Granted, most of what we know about Smith came from his own pen, but the guy couldn't have stretched the truth that much.

Muffin Monday: Fabulous Fargozas

Mom and Dad went away on a little mini-vacation over the weekend, so it was up to me to fix something for the church potluck. What did I make? Muffins, of course!


I had lots of mozzarella cheese on hand, so I went looking for a cheesy, savory muffin recipe on the internet. What I found were the "fabulous fargozas", and they came with two big perks:

1. They smelled-up the house in the most marvelous way while baking.
2. The church gave them rave reviews! I had several people express how lovely they tasted and ask me what was in them.

So now you're itching to make a batch of your own, right? Well, it's not hard. The most time-consuming part was grating three cups of cheese (I doubled the recipe).

Fabulous Fargozas
This recipe comes from Judi at AllRecipes.com and makes 1 dozen muffins.

INGREDIENTS:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 3 tablespoons white sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon baking powder
• 1 tablespoon dried rosemary
• 1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
• 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 small onion, minced
• 2 teaspoons crushed garlic
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1 cup milk
• 1/4 cup butter, melted

METHOD:

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F (220 degrees C). If using dark-coated muffin pans, preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Grease 12 muffin cups.
2. In a large bowl, stir together flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and rosemary until the mixture is smooth and without lumps. Lightly mix in the mozzarella cheese, Parmesan cheese, onion, and garlic. In another bowl, whisk together the egg and melted butter, then whisk into the milk. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, and pour the milk mixture into the well. Stir just to moisten, 12 to 15 full circular strokes that scrape the bottom of the bowl. The batter will look lumpy. Pour batter into the prepared muffin cups, filling them about 2/3 full.
3. Bake the muffins in the preheated oven until browned, about 25 minutes. Cool in pan for about 5 minutes before removing from the cups.

Some alterations I made: Following the advice of some cooks who had reviewed this recipe, I chose to cut down on the white sugar (doubling the recipe, I put in a little less than 1/4 cup). I also cut down on the rosemary, fearing that the potent herb would dominate the muffins (I put roughly 2 tsp. of freshly ground dried rosemary in 2 dozen muffins). The onion and garlic were mostly guesswork; I used half of a medium-large onion and four or five small cloves of garlic, then sauteed it in a pan with butter to soften them and mellow out the flavors.

I hope that you'll try your hand at these scrumptious baked goods! Tell me how they turn out :)

Book Giveaway!

Calling all Christian homeschool girls!

If you haven't checked out www.AltogetherSeparate.com, this is a great time because we're running a lovely giveaway of that book I've been telling you all so much about.

One Thousand Gifts is a New York Times Bestselling book written by Ann Voskamp. Its purpose? Daring you to live fully right where you are by giving thanks in all things. It's something that every Christian should be doing, but how often do we forget to be filled with the joy of the Lord?

“I want to see beauty. In the ugly, in the sink, in the suffering, in the daily, in all the days before I die, the moments before I sleep.”

Ann is really a poet masquerading as a prose-writer. Her words sing off the page as she carries the reader through a journey from brokenness to absolute joy! Ann's search for beauty is not the result of a perfect life that's brought her breakfast in bed from the day she was born; it's a search that was bled out of a horrific wound—many wounds—some that I can't imagine, and some that I can identify with perfectly.  

Her challenge to herself was to find 1,000 gifts in the world around her. They weren't the kind of gifts that we usually thank God for, they were bubbles, and warm sunlight, and weathered wood, and the curl of a child's hair, and her little boy's injured hand, and tulips in a bucket with wooden candlesticks, and her scarred past, and a white fleece shirt, and what the scale read. Ann says, “How my eyes see, perspective, is my key to enter into His gates. I can only do so with thanksgiving. If my inner eye has God seeping up through all things, then can't I give thanks for anything? And if I can give thanks for the good things, the hard things, the absolute everything, I can enter the gates to glory. Living in His presence is fullness of joy—and seeing shows the way in.” This book is where Ann shows us the key to entering those gates to glory.

I know that this is a powerful book, even though I have yet to finish reading it myself. I joined Ann on her quest to find 1,000 gifts in a year (read some of my gifts here), and it's changing the way I see the world.

So, about that giveaway. If you want to be part of this amazing gift-counting experience, then join the community over at Altogether Separate!

More Gifts

• Wind is the breath of sunshine
• The whistling train is victorious, chugging and squealing onward and upward
• My pillow is the transport to a world without expectations or responsibilities 
• From Grace for the Good Girl, "You are not accepted because you are good. You are free to be good because you are accepted."
• My hard-working-mud-caked-blue-jean brother
• Creative fingers, held in anticipation over keys of black and white
• Interactions with blog readers
• Arriving to piano lessons early, sipping hot black coffee

• Hearing words of inspiration and encouragement while wiping spaces clean 
• Mom and Dad, laughing together on the porch
• Aaron and his buddies laughing as they spill sawdust over the garage
• My parents taking it easy after I banged up the car
• "By perseverance the snail reached the ark." -C.H. Spurgeon
• "On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur." - Evelyn Underhill
• Kyla's hilarious, wonderful review post: www.altogetherseparate.com
• Napkins in symmetrical rows, fresh in their pink elegance

• Cinnamon-ed muffins fluffing in the oven
• A spider folded, dangling underneath a table; repulsive then fascinating  
• Fuzzy blanket, lovingly stitched
• The littlest nails in the finished Axis and Allies game board
• The complex melodies and rhythms of classical music
• The frosting, chapping air to remind you that you're alive
• Rocks and dirt, turning with the flip of a shovel and a muddy converse shoe
• The incredible intricacy of snowdrops
• Adorable Russian doll earbuds
• Scrumptious strawberries in thick chocolate ice cream
• Cute little mini cooper
• Broken lips praising the Lord

• My tea tidy, glued with love
• A knitted scarf, a white elephant gift, and a wrinkled book from Goodwill
• Gelatinous halwa, glossy and sweet
• Blue jays hopping and diving and nibbling
• Burst of sunlight through lowering clouds
• After-midnight laughter over party plans
• Mamage laughing at my lame joke
• Late night laughs with the backseat comedians
• Nibbling--cook's privilege
• Guests having a blast at a party we created

• The opportunity to hear college lectures while cleaning
• Mr Byron, growing old alone in his house
• The possibility of a tumor on Malachi's brain
• Another hard night of cleaning
• Blazing orange coals, simmering in the stove
• Rows of colorful, beautiful, comfortable clothes
• A man and his dog, lounging warm in the office
• I can hear my loving, happy family around me
• The assurance of God's approval through Christ
• Knowing that God is listening to every word I pray